


this is our city

by glitteratiglue



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Next Generation (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Post-Movie: Star Trek Generations (1994), Shore Leave, idiots pretending not to have feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22910632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteratiglue/pseuds/glitteratiglue
Summary: It’s harder to get the words out than she thought, past the space in her chest from being apart from him all these months:“Will you stay, Will?”
Relationships: William Riker/Deanna Troi
Comments: 19
Kudos: 78





	this is our city

**Author's Note:**

> [still screaming about 'Nepenthe'] Yeah, obviously I'm writing fic about it, but this was a nice lil soothing balm in the meantime.

The casual communiqué from Will had been a welcome surprise.

He’d been on secondment to the academy flight range as an instructor, but a meeting with Starfleet HQ had brought him her way. As far as Deanna is concerned, the day has been close to perfect. They've spent the afternoon wandering Sausalito, followed by an amazing dinner at a tiny Denevan restaurant Will had discovered last time he was planetside.

On their way back to the Starfleet campus and their respective apartments, he takes a detour, leading her down a side street. They approach the entrance and Deanna can hear it already; a murmur of voices and the soft plinking of the piano.

It's a jazz club. The building is instantly familiar: its sign with the red holographic saxophone, the old-fashioned door with a handle.

“Do you remember this place?” Will asks, nostalgia shading his thoughts.

A lifetime ago, when she still lived on Betazed, they’d spent a very memorable night here before taking the morning shuttle to Caracas. Will had tried to impress her with an ill-judged trombone solo and had made up for it by dancing with her for the rest of the evening.

“I can’t believe it’s still here,” Deanna exclaims, and he answers by placing his hand in hers as they walk inside. Perhaps he’s too nostalgic, she reflects as they find a table, but with their new ship under construction, it’s been months since they managed to get together. She won’t ruin it with overanalysing.

Much later, when they’re listening to a Bolian jazz trio and three drinks deep, Will asks: “Care to dance, Deanna?”

His words are confident, but beneath, she senses anticipation. It doesn’t stop her following him right onto the dancefloor.

“We haven’t done this in a long time,” Deanna remarks, some time later when they’re moving slowly to the music. The fingers laced into hers tighten where they rest on his shoulder.

Will goes very still and she feels his small hitch of breath against her hair. The hand he’s got at the small of her back comes up, reaches for her face. Deanna shivers at the intimate touch, and knows he felt it too from his answering smile.

“This, too,” he says, the words coming out rough, and then his mouth finds hers. At first, he’s tentative, but when she responds, the kiss turns hot, insistent. He lets go of her hand and tangles it in her hair, and her arms come up to wind around his neck, the pair of them utterly lost in the moment.

Deanna is the first one to remember they’re supposed to be just friends. Carefully, she steps back, pulls away from his grasp. Pretends not to see the yearning disappointment in his blue eyes.

“I’m dizzy, Will,” Deanna says, ignoring the pang inside her at the loss of Will’s touch. “Let’s sit down.”

She reminds herself this isn’t them, not anymore. Their occasional trysts had come to a halt by mutual agreement after Will’s double had shown up and exposed the true fragility of everything they were. Close as they’d always been, they both knew their luck of being on the _Enterprise_ together had to run out sometime. It was easier to withdraw, to remain within the comfortable intimacy of their friendship while never allowing it to progress into anything more.

“I warned you about having that third Aldebaran whiskey,” he says as they go back to their table. “It’s strong stuff.” He signals for a waiter and orders another Trakian ale. Deanna knows she appears fairly composed and has the distinct sense Will knows she isn’t feeling dizzy in the slightest.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” Will says, tracing a finger through the condensation on his mug. “I’m sorry.” He smiles, gestures to her. “You looked so great — you felt so great, dancing with me like that. I guess I got carried away. Nostalgia and all that.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Deanna admits. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, briefly, and he’s watching her all the while. He puts down his glass and reaches for her hand; his fingers cool and damp from the glass but the touch sure and steady.

In the low light, Will’s eyes are dark on hers, and she becomes increasingly aware there are other things on his mind.

“Deanna,” he says, his voice turning earnest as he strokes the back of her hand. He’s embarrassed by his own willingness to admit this, she can tell, but: “I really missed you. So much. Having dinner together after shift, our talks. Even doing the crew evaluations. All of it.”

“Me too,” is her quiet reply. Deanna notices the slight ache in her ribcage, a phantom reminder of feelings for Will she’d long put aside. At least, that’s what she’s been telling herself for years.

He leans in, the way he so often used to, to press a soft kiss to her lips. His intentions are platonic, there’s nothing different about it, except —

The kiss is brief, sweet and over far too fast. Abandoning all reason, Deanna gets her hand around the back of Will’s neck and drags him right back in. He makes a noise of surprise against her mouth, but quickly returns the kiss with unbridled enthusiasm. It’s open and messy and his knees are bumping into hers, one hand in her hair and the other pulling her in by the shoulder.

He’s chuckling when she draws back. “Wasn’t expecting that,” he says.

“Liar,” Deanna returns, smiling. Will doesn’t refute it. She follows his glance around the room, to the cadets and junior officers in clinches on the dancefloor or in shadowed corners of booths. It's a thoroughly Starfleet crowd, and on the younger end of the spectrum, to boot.

“I feel like we’re a little old for this sort of caper in public,” he says, laughing.

“You could be right.” Deanna runs a thumb over her lips, wet and shiny from the kiss, and that regains his attention instantly.

He gets to his feet, offering a hand. “I’ll walk you back.” He pauses, a new awkwardness in his demeanour. “If you want.”

“Right,” she says, recovering herself, taking his hand as she stands. “That would be nice.”

He keeps his hand locked in hers as they take the short walk around the perimeter of the campus to the Starfleet Medical apartments. There’s a chill in the salt-tinged air this close to the water, and she winds her scarf tighter about her neck. A tension thrums between them, created from memories strung together by a connection that’s never really died.

Behind the door of her apartment, Will looks around with interest while she sheds her coat and scarf. They’re Starfleet standard quarters, nothing impressive, but Deanna has added little touches to make her feel at home. Wall hangings and ornaments adorn the space, a pleasant luxury now she’s free of starship regulations.

“It’s nice,” Will remarks. His arms are held stiffly at his sides. He looks almost shy as he turns towards the door. “Deanna; it’s late. I should —"

“You’re going?” She keeps the question casual while she’s feeling anything but.

“Do you want me to?” Will’s gaze is careful, the shutters of his mind bolted down tight. The other possibility is that her own emotions are getting in the way of reading him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

It’s harder to get the words out than she thought, past the space in her chest from being apart from him all these months:

“Will you stay, Will?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he says. His hands are already on her shoulders, drawing her in. She can feel the crashing relief of her words, like they’re breaking him open. “Can I?” he whispers.

It feels like the most natural thing in the world when he kisses her again, letting down the barriers in his mind at the same time. A rush of want is spiralling inside him, like he’s desperate for her. Maybe she is, too.

“Will,” Deanna says against his mouth, her cold hands finding their way beneath his jacket and shirt, seeking the warmth of his body. He's pressing kisses to her neck when she adds: “I want you. Please.”

Will lifts his head, his blue eyes fixed on hers with unusual intensity; something he normally keeps sealed away around her.

“You know you don’t have to ask,” he tells her. “Not with me. Honestly? I’ve been thinking about this all night. Imagining what I’d do.”

Deanna’s chest is heaving, her breaths coming out short. “And what would you do?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” he promises, voice low. Deanna realises she’s wet already, a flush of heat rising up her body just from his mouth on hers, from hearing him talk like this.

She has her hands on his waist now, walking him backwards. As his back hits the wall, Will laughs.

He grins down at her. “I like you like this,” he says, breathless already from wanting her.

Deanna kisses him again, biting his lip and then she’s settling on the floor between his knees. Will is watching her with eyes like fire as she goes for the fastenings of his pants, slips them down along with his underwear. The tension in his mind is palpable and she sinks into it, stoking the embers of his arousal in the way only she can.

The muscles of his lower abdomen jump under her touch as she lays a hand there to brace herself, the other one wrapped around the base of his cock. She can’t help but remember his cues: the way his breath hitches when she curls her tongue around the head of his cock, the tiny shocks of pleasure that her empathic senses pick up on, the frantic way he presses a hand to her shoulder when he’s about to come.

Will stays rooted to the spot while she takes him apart, hands resting on her shoulders, lost in a haze of need. Deanna can taste every bit of his need, a golden warmth in her mind as familiar as her own skin. She looks right up at Will; his eyes are wet from how good it feels and he’s biting his lip though he can’t stop groaning.

The mix of adoration and desperation in his gaze is heady, almost as good as the velvet heat of his cock, its weight on her tongue. That very thought is clear in Deanna’s mind, and she sends it to him, entwines it with the glowing desire that’s all him. It breaks him: he pulses in her mouth and comes hard with a near-shout of her name, trying not to push his hips off the wall but unable to stop himself.

He slides down the wall after, ending up in a slack-jawed, trembling heap at her feet.

“You’re way too good at that.” Will’s voice is hoarse as he pulls off his jacket, followed by his shirt. “I’d forgotten.”

She kisses him, hot and bitter from swallowing him back, but they have to break apart so he can get his pants off all the way, kick off his shoes. He stands and before she can even think, he’s bent down and swept her up into his arms.

“Will, what are you doing,“ Deanna says, but a thrill burns through her at how Will’s always been able to do this, pick her up like it’s no effort. Her arms are around his neck and he’s walking her over to the bed, laying her down gently.

Her hair is fanned out behind her and his fingers are in it before he covers her with his body and kisses her, deep and passionate. She breathes out a moan into his mouth, her desire spiralling already.

She’s tense from wanting him to touch her, and she knows Will feels it. He strips her with a gentle efficiency, touching her everywhere he can get his hands on as he pulls away her dress, tugs her stockings down her legs. His fingertips linger on her skin as he removes her underwear, already so damp.

Deanna’s breaths are coming out shallow. She wants this so much, but a part of her wonders if it’s a complication they can ill afford. After all, they’ll be serving together again soon.

He’s mouthing at her breasts when he stops and looks at her for a long moment. Will is no telepath, but she has the feeling he knows just what’s on her mind.

“You sure you're okay?”

She’s nodding, not trusting herself to speak right now.

His hands stroke down her sides, his smile reassuring as he slips them underneath her thighs so he can press them apart.

“Deanna,” he says, fingers trailing along the inside of her thigh. “Stop thinking. Breathe.”

Her hands find their way to his shoulders as his mouth teases at her, soft and fluttering. He’s in no hurry; he lets it build while she grabs at his hair and fruitlessly wills him to go faster, until she’s shaking her way to an orgasm that his mind promises will be the first of several.

“I’m only getting started, imzadi,” he says, kissing slowly up her body. Will’s words send a pulse of heat straight through her though she’s still coming down from the high. “That was just to warm you up.”

“I'm so glad you're here, Will,” she says, aware her voice is soft at the edges. “And that was amazing. Really."

“This wasn’t why I came to see you, you know,” Will tells her, very seriously. “I just missed you. I didn’t think about how much I needed your friendship, Deanna, until you weren’t there.”

“Now you’re the one thinking too much,” she admonishes gently, and kisses him. There’s a hint of salt and beneath it, the taste of her. “But I missed you too, Will. I really did.”

She can sense the resurgence of his arousal, knows he’s hard again even before his cock presses into her thigh, hard and heavy.

“On your back for me,” Deanna tells him, in the tone she uses when commanding a watch on the bridge.

He’s laughing now. “Aren’t we demanding.” As she straddles him, he’s reaching between her legs, sliding two fingers inside, slow and easy. His grin is filthy as he feels how wet she is already. “I’m planning on having you like this for a while. Have you got something?” He points at the bedside drawer.

Deanna just grins at him, opening the drawer. She finds her preferred kind, from Risa, something Will introduced her to long ago: long-lasting and smooth. It’s cool and slick when she wraps her hand around his cock. She’s soaking, of course, but with experience she’s learned she’ll be much more comfortable the next day if they take the time for this part.

She grabs his hand, places it on her breast.

“I’m ready,” Deanna says on a slow breath. Then she’s sinking down, taking him in inch by inch until the soft hairs on his thighs are brushing against her skin.

“Fuck,” Will says, eyes wide and she answers him with a small noise of pleasure. She slides her hand down to where they’re joined and his eyes flash with need as he watches her start to touch herself.

There’s a gentle twinge in her thoughts as she starts to move, setting the pace she wants. He’s searching for her mind, thoughts brushing against hers but not quite managing to link, like trying to find the right subspace frequency.

 _Let me_ , Deanna says in his thoughts, more invasively than she should, probably, but she forges the connection between their minds in moments. Will’s broad smile as he realises is the light of stars at warp speed, and now it’s in her head, too.

 _I can feel you, imzadi_ , he sends joyously. He’s kneading at her breasts with his hands, encouraging her: “There you go, yeah. God, you feel so good —"

“Don’t distract me,” she warns, slowing the pace of her fingers for a moment, trying to stave off her orgasm enough that she can ratchet up its intensity.

He’s close already, too close — _You can,_ he tells her. With wordless permission, Deanna pushes deep into his thoughts, applies pressure until his desire is under her control. He doesn’t get to come without her say-so; the fact he’ll just let her do that like it’s nothing is something she’s not willing to consider the implications of right now.

 _Oh, Will, I’m so close_. Her nails dig crescents into his shoulder as she moves over him, a little messier now, less coordinated as her release approaches. She’s rocking into the rhythm of her own touch, gasping and shaking; she just needs a bit more.

 _That’s it, Deanna,_ Will says. Then, out loud: “You’re going get yourself there, you’re going to touch yourself until you come shaking on my cock, yeah — faster, just like that, yeah. Come on, baby, I know you can (and truly, Will’s far gone if he’s using such ridiculous endearments), just for me —” He’s thrusting up into her wildly, matching her rhythm as his palm squeezes roughly at her breast. His eyes are locked on hers, pupils blown and his gaze heavy with meaning, with _wanting_ her to come —

She’s trembling on top of him, fingers still working at herself when her body tips forward and she gasps out: “Oh, God, Will, please, I’m —” as her climax sweeps over her. Her eyes fall closed and she’s coming in waves, grasping at his free hand until his knuckles blanch. She sinks into the burn of Will’s need that she can taste in her mind, letting it extend her orgasm, enjoying teasing him that little bit because she isn’t going to let him follow her yet.

When she’s wrung every last inch of pleasure out of this, Deanna leans down and kisses him, breathless and wet.

 _You’re being so good for me, imzadi._ She grins wickedly inside his head.

 _And you’re so beautiful when you come._ “You’re going to do it again,” Will tells her, commanding and tender in the same breath. There’s sweat beading on his forehead, tension ready to burst under his skin from the way she’s holding him on the edge, but he’ll wait anyway. It almost stops her breath, the thought that he’ll trust her like this, give up all the power and control he’s so used to exercising.

Her fingers are shaking when she starts up again, so slowly, letting out tiny gasps because her clit’s still throbbing and sensitive.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Will says, pinching her nipple hard, and Deanna moans, lifting herself as he thrusts up into her. _I can feel it; I know you can come again. I want to watch you again. You’re gonna come even harder for me._

It takes much longer, this time. Eventually, her fingers start cramping with fatigue and her thighs ache from riding him for so long. Will’s eyes are sympathetic and he pushes her hand away, replacing it with his own. The angle’s not ideal, but he curls his fingers into a fist, lets her grind her clit on him.

_So good, Will, I love that, but, oh, I’m so sensitive, I don’t know if I can —_

“You can,” he says, emphatically and pushes the heel of his hand into her clit almost painfully, because he knows that’ll get her there. Sheer heat is flaring in Deanna’s mind, and she feels that delicious tingling in her body right before it happens.

When she comes, it’s hard enough that it rips a soft scream from her throat — something that has only ever happened with him, the way he knows her body better than anyone ever has. She’s trembling and she can’t hold up the walls around Will’s desire anymore, all of it letting go in a hot rush that pulls him right over the brink along with her.

Some minutes later:

Deanna is stretched out on top of Will, her head on his chest while he strokes her hair.

“That was so good,” she says, sounding happy and sated and more than a little exhausted.

“ _So_ good,” Will echoes, a groan at the end of the words. There’s a pause, and he adds: “You probably know it anyway, but, Deanna — you’ve always been the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.” He senses her sudden laughter in his mind and returns it with: “And yeah, I know I’ve got plenty to compare it to.” He grins. “Doesn’t that make it more true?”

“You might not be the only one, there.” Deanna presses a kiss to his collarbone, tasting the sweat there.

“Do you ever wonder, imzadi,” he says softly, “if it means something? That it’s still this way between us, after all this time.”

“Don’t overthink it, Will,” is Deanna’s soft reply, but she pulls his arm around her anyway. “Let’s just stay like this.”

Next morning, Deanna wakes to Will nuzzling at her neck and his hand trailing over her stomach, feather-light. He’s already hard and pressed against her back, and she leans into the heat of him. His fingers slide between her thighs; it drags her fully from sleep to waking when he starts making slow, deliberate circles around her clit.

They hardly speak, a combination of sleepiness and an unvoiced agreement to simply enjoy the little time they have left together.

It happens fast: she reaches back to hitch his leg over her hip and then he’s pushing into her, hard, breathing heavily against the back of her neck. There’s that slight edge of discomfort where she wasn’t quite ready, but Will is hot and thick inside of her and she presses her hips back against him, wanting more anyway.

He stills. “You okay?” he’s asking, voice sleep-roughened, because he can feel how tight she is.

“Don’t stop,” Deanna says, and then he’s all the way in, his arm pulling her closer, and she hisses in pleasure.

He can only manage shallow thrusts like this, but they take their time, moving lazy and slow, Will’s breaths coming quick and fast on her skin as desire spirals inside them both. Deanna reaches for his hand where it rests on her waist, tugs it down so he can touch her. She closes her eyes, sinks into the simple pleasure of it all: his hips rocking into hers; the rhythm of his fingers on her clit; the warmth of his body, wrapped around her so tightly.

When she comes, it almost catches her by surprise; a tingling rush of heat that sweeps through her body and has her gasping out _“Will,”_ writhing and pushing into his fingers. She drags him right along with her, delighting at the deep groan he muffles against her skin as he spills himself inside her.

“Best way to wake up, if you ask me,” Will says, all smiles inside her head, and kisses her shoulder.

“Mm,” Deanna says in complete agreement. He’s inside her still, neither of them wanting to separate.

They doze for a few minutes, then Will unsticks himself from her back and makes for the edge of the bed. Deanna’s eyelids are only half-open, but she makes a soft sound in protest, already missing his body tangled around hers.

“I’ll order some breakfast,” Will says, reaching for a PADD on the table. “What do you feel like? Vulcan? Andorian? Pancakes?”

“You choose,” Deanna murmurs sleepily. She’s never been good at getting up in the morning.

“The captain’s asked me to be based at Utopia Planitia from next week to advise on some of the specifications,” Will says, draining the last of his coffee. “Geordi’s already there. It’ll be good to see him.”

They’re showered, dressed and sitting at her dining table, the remains of a large Andorian omelette on the table between them.

“I’ve never been to Mars,” Deanna says, hands wrapped around her coffee cup.

He grins. “Well, it’s…red. Kind of sterile.”

“Sounds fascinating,” she says dryly, and sets down the cup.

“It’s only a shuttle from here.” He smiles at her, light. “Construction of the _Enterprise-E_ should be complete four months from now. That’s not so long. But — “

She reaches out across the table and his hand meets hers. “I know, Will,” she says. “I don’t want to wait that long, either. I’ll check my diary.”

“Let’s make a pact,” he says, as charmingly earnest as always. “We’ll always make the time to see each other, even if we’re apart.”

“Of course.” Deanna strokes her hand over his. “You know you’ll always be in my life, imzadi. That I’m sure of.”

“Yeah,” Will tells her, obvious affection in his tone. “I think I might be okay with that.”


End file.
